My legs were still toned from all the physical work I did at the shelter, my stomach softer than it had been in my early twenties. Faint stretch marks left white streaks on my lower belly from my pregnancy with Gavin, and I dragged my hand over the white lines, trailing up my stomach and between my breasts.
NowthoseI was proud of. Yes, they often hid behind a baggy T-shirt, encased in a sports bra, but I had a great rack. My chest held light freckles, just like the bridge of my nose. I sighed as I pulled on my cotton underwear and some lightweight shorts. The tank I’d picked had a bra built in, and it gave me the kind of cleavage I used to show off ten years ago.
Like I showed off the night at the bar.
Oh, but we were ignoring that night because it never happened. It didn’texist.
The entire thing was a fever dream, best banished to the dark, scary part of my brain where I kept algebra and laundry best practices and how to iron clothes and all manner of things that were pointless.
No, today, we were focusing on the fact that I was proud of my body.
“Not bad, Sinclair,” I muttered, brushing through my wet hair and then twisting it up onto the top of my head.
While I slathered lotion over my legs and arms, Archer kept trying to elbow his way into my thoughts. Talking to him. The sound of his voice. The way he’d watched me. The way he’d touched me. My hands slowed, goose bumps lifting along my arms. Ness joked about my impossible standards and the eight-date rule attached to them, but that list came in handy.
Hadn’t I learned that in excruciating detail with my didn’t-really-happen run-in with Archer?
He was theantithesisof my list.
Too good-looking.
Too rich.
Too successful.
Arrogant.
Sex on legs.
Eyes on him all the time.
Nothing about him was quietly average, and that was why he was a big ol’ no for me.
Only one person in the last five years had gotten past dates five and six. He’d met every criterion on the list, and still I was reminded why it was best to proceed with caution.
I wanted a partner. A best friend. I didn’t want someone else to take care of, an overgrown man-child who needed another mom. I also didn’t want an easy lay, because holy hell, was a vibrator a lot less hassle. That was collecting dust in my drawer too. By the time I hit my mattress at the end of the day, just reaching for it felt like more effort than I could spare.
I wasn’t even sure who I’d think of if I did.
Liar, liar, sensible panties on fire,a voice whispered in the back of my mind. It sounded an awful lot like Ness. If she was the voice of my conscience, I was insomuch trouble.
Unbidden, a face slipped into my mind while I ran my hands over my shoulders and chest to rub in the last of the lotion. A strong jaw and blue eyes. Firm lips. Unsmiling mouth.
He sure didn’t look at me like I was a messy, tired single mom, but I didn’t know what his looks meant either. Eighty percent of the time, I wished I’d never met him.
Another ten percent didn’t necessarily regret what had happened. I just wanted him to go away.
Unfortunately, the last ten percent never should have seen the light of day. Blame it on hormones, blame it on a dry spell—whatever. It was there, and only when my life quieted down enough that my mind could wander away from to-do lists did it land on questions that I never should have been asking.
As you got older, it was easy to let certain parts of your personality fade, caught in the cycle of routine and just trying to get through each day. What faded in me over the last ten years was that slightly rebellious girl, the one who’d snuck out when she was supposed to be asleep, and allowed the curious part of her nature to crank the engine and stomp on the gas.
The inquisitive, rebellious girl wasn’t gone, but it was only with Archer that she’d come out to play.Sheasked questions.Shewanted to know things.She’dtake a list meant to restrict potential partners and burn it to the fucking ground.
Even though I’d allowed her to fade, the questions remained.
What if I’d let him take me home that night? What would he be like in bed?
My hands trembled slightly as I rubbed lotion underneath the strap of my tank, because Iknew. He’d be bossy. Demanding. Relentless.